A Cure For The Winter Blues
by InbeTreena
Summary: It's Christmas time, and Will is feeling melancholy. Perhaps a harmless misunderstanding courtesy of Neil can make him a little merrier... Will/Neil fluff. Rated for foul language and boys kissing.


Author Notes: I'm now officially on Christmas break from Uni, which means I can start writing stuff for fun again! I thought I'd take a break from Will/Jay and churn out a bit of Will/Neil fluff instead. (What's a good name for Will/Neil slash? I'm not aware of any standard nomenclature for Inbetweeners fan-fic. I quite like the sound of "Suthenzie" though. What do you think?) I also have a few ideas kicking around for some Will/Simon one-shots, and even a Will/Donovan one too. My Will muse likes to get around, apparently. Slut! Anyway, enjoy the fluffiness!

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A Cure For The Winter Blues

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So, here we are again. Another year, another Christmas disco at Rudge Park Comprehensive. Another night of loud music, garish decor and vomit from over-consumption of smuggled alcohol. Of course, this year's party is nowhere near as tasteful as the one I organised myself last year. Well, I say "myself" – I suppose the others all helped out in their own little way, but I was the one in charge so naturally most of the credit for its success should be attributed to me. I'm beginning to wish I'd reprised my role as organiser for a second year – at least it would have given me something to do with myself tonight other than standing around, looking fed up. Not to mention lonely. Neil has disappeared, and Simon is off somewhere being boring, engaging in another futile game of cat-and-mouse with Carli. Not even watching Jay getting slapped silly by virtually every party-goer in possession of a vagina is cheering me up. Simply put, despite being in a roomful of people, I feel nothing short of alone.

Frankly exhausted with all of the laughter and movement going on around me, I step out of the school hall into the darkened corridor. I carelessly toss aside my empty polystyrene cup that had previously been filled with a ghastly fruity concoction containing what I would estimate to be a medically inadvisable quantity of cheap vodka. How such an obvious case of punchbowl spiking had evaded the Sauron-esque watchfulness of Mr Gilbert, I'll never know. Perhaps he's grown to be equally as apathetic to the goings on around here as I have. Seriously, was there even any point in me coming here tonight? The buffet food is inedible, the music is too loud and horrible for me to withstand, and nobody who isn't drunk, boring, verbally abusive, or (in most cases) a combination of all three is talking to me. Whatever the reason, I'm simply not enjoying myself.

I moodily kick out at my discarded cup, watching it skitter across the concrete floor before striding off down the corridor. It's not that I actively try to be a killjoy, I really don't. I'm just not comfortable with partaking in something so frivolously chaotic, especially not on my own. Maybe my father is right in his unrelenting assertion that I'm simply just not a normal teenage boy. But then again, what's "normal"? One could argue that it's not considered "normal" for a dad to not even acknowledge their only son's seventeenth birthday because they're too busy shagging their PA up at some swanky mountain ski resort to remember. I'm not sure I'll ever forgive him for that, especially considering his total lack of remorse after the fact. I don't expect that I'll be hearing from him over Christmas either. I'm not certain that I won't, but at least if I don't expect it, I won't be so sorely disappointed when it doesn't happen.

As I walk around the deserted school hallways, I find myself scowling at all the jolly images of Santa or reindeer or snowmen that adorn the walls. What's so great about Christmas anyway? Everybody always harps on about how the holiday season is meant to fill us with wonderment and joy. Sorry to be cynical, but that is complete and utter horse-cock. What exactly is it about the simple action of putting up a tree with a load of gaudy lights on it for a month that's designed to make us cheerfully forget how tragic our lives are the other three hundred and thirty-something days of the year? I'm pretty sure there **was** a time when I used to enjoy Christmas – I suppose even last year's wasn't too bad. But the spirit of the season is definitely eluding me this time around. Bah humbug, and what have you.

Just as I approach the exit, I break my stride to check the time on my phone. As tempting as continuing my internal ranting whilst stomping around the streets in the dark on my own sounds, I probably shouldn't for safety's sake. Maybe if Mum hasn't gone to bed yet, I might be able to convince her to come and pick me up. Before I can even begin to focus on the screen, I find myself rather distracted by how sticky my hands are from holding that awful cup of punch. I've got somewhat of a hang-up about my hands feeling soiled – yet another abnormal trait of mine to add to a seemingly never-ending list. I turn on my heels and head a little way back up the corridor – fortunately, the boys' loos are right here. I'll just give the old mitts a quick scrub, and then be on my not-so-merry way.

Just as I reach out for the handle, the door swings open. I step back cautiously. Knowing my luck, it's probably Donovan or some other nameless oxygen-thieving troglodyte hell-bent on making my life even more insufferable than it already is. However, it would seem that my luck is improving as I'm greeted by a friendly – albeit, vacant – face.

'Alright?'

His wide grin and playful blue eyes are as infectious as always, and I can't help but smile back. 'Hi, Neil.'

God, I sound fucking miserable! Hearing my unenthused tone, he cocks his head to one side questioningly.

'S'matter? Not enjoyin' yourself?'

Bless his heart; his concern for me actually seems sincere. I do consider him to be my most caring friend, but I really don't want to burden him with my inconsequential woes.

'I think I'm just running rather low on Christmas cheer this year.'

He looks thoughtful for a moment. 'My dad's got plenty of booze lying 'round the 'ouse. I'll sneak you some, if you like?'

'Not really what I meant by 'Christmas cheer', but thanks anyway.'

Neil studies my face closely, his expression akin to that of a chimp trying to fathom a Rubik's cube. He often looks at me like that. We look at **each other** like that, to be honest. My relationship with Neil is an odd one. It isn't as comfortable or close as the one I share with Simon, nor as strained or reluctant as the one I have with Jay. With Neil, it's as if we're alien species from two completely different planets that have somehow forged an unlikely camaraderie in the midst of desperately trying to figure one another out. I'm definitely very fond of him though, and he seems quite fond of me too. Eventually, he breaks into a confident smile and pats my shoulder affectionately.

'You'll feel better soon, mate. Christmas is the time for feelin' good an' miracles an' that.'

I hope he's right – though I'm pretty sure that it'll take an **actual** miracle to make me feel any less than shit right now. In truth, other than my ubiquitous father issues, I'm not sure I even know why I'm feeling so miserable. Maybe it's some sort of depression, like seasonal affective disorder. That sounds about right. I'll have to be sure to Google it when I get home, make sure the symptoms tally up, _et cetera_. I sigh, mustering up a reasonably bright smile for Neil's sake.

'Yeah, I'm sure I'll be fine. Anyway…'

I step towards the doorway and try to manoeuvre around him, but for some reason he continues to block my path. When I gesture for him to move, he just looks bewildered. More so than usual, I mean.

'What you doin'?' he asks.

'Riding a bike?' His expression doesn't change. When am I going to learn that he doesn't understand sarcasm? I'd best clarify... 'I'm trying to get to the sink so I can wash my hands, Neil. Why?'

'You've not done the tradition yet though.'

What on earth is he talking about? I'm not sure I can think of any toilet-based traditions. None that I'd wish to engage in, anyway. Seeing the perplexed look on my face, Neil rolls his eyes.

'Look.'

He points upwards at the decorations attached to the doorframe. There's nothing special about them that I can see - just a few bits of ropey old tinsel with a large sprig of plastic holly in the centre. I'm even more confused now.

'What about them?'

'Well, ya know what they say you're s'pposed to do if you meet someone under a sprig o' holly?'

'Err…no?'

His eyes widen. 'Really? I thought everyone knew about it. It's a proper old tradition. It's meant to be lucky.'

'What is?'

'Kissin' under it.'

Ah, of course! Finally, the penny drops! Just a simple case of plant-based confusion! I can't help chuckling at his faux pas.

'Neil, I think you've gotten a bit mixed up. You're supposed to kiss under mistle-'

I don't get the chance to finish correcting him. Before I can even register what is happening, my face is cupped his hands and his mouth delicately brushes over mine. The cheap booze filtering through my veins serves to dull my astonishment, my only movement being that of my eyes as they instinctively close on contact. Well... I suppose this is fair enough, really - a quick peck on the mouth between close male friends is quite standard in a lot of European countries. Though they don't usually let it linger on quite so long as this... Just when I think it's about to end, his lips start moving against mine, applying more pressure. And I'm still too stunned to do anything other than allow him to continue. I really ought to be putting a stop to this but if I'm completely honest, it feels rather too nice for me to justify bringing it to an end. Truly nice things seem to have become somewhat of a rarity in my life lately. Might as well make the most of it...

I crack open one eye and a quick look around tells me that we're still very much alone. I raise myself up to my fullest height to save Neil from stooping down so much, placing my hands on his slender shoulders for lack of anything better to do with them. He moves closer in response, the warmth of his lanky body feeling oddly pleasant pressed against mine. I sigh shakily without meaning to, and the second my lips part, his tongue delves inside. I make a surprised sound, but it doesn't deter him. The tip of his tongue teases mine, as if coaxing it to join in. I suppose it would be rude not to. His mouth tastes distinctly sweet, a combination of Redbull and spearmint chewing gum. He seems to appreciate the returned gesture, moving his hands to angle my face so he can kiss me harder. I feel my cheeks start to burn as his tongue kneads mine more insistently. The way he kisses is pretty wonderful, in my humble opinion – the perfect balance of passion and tenderness. His storied experience with the ladies definitely shows. Speaking of ladies, here's a disturbing thought - he's actually a better kisser than Charlotte. That's not to say I suddenly prefer kissing boys to girls though – I'm fairly sure that I don't! Neil just happens to have a particularly talented mouth... which is probably not the best thought to have at a time like this, to be fair.

After what feels like quite a long time (though admittedly not quite long enough for my liking), Neil finally pulls away. His blue eyes never leave me, watching closely as if trying to gauge my reaction. Part of me really hopes he isn't astute enough to deduce how very much I enjoyed that. I almost can't believe it myself. I break into a shy smile, trying to conjure up some kind of appropriate witticism. Failing that, I settle for laughing softly.

'That…that was quite a kiss.'

He grins at me. 'Cheers. Just wanted to make sure you got plenty of luck out of it. Maybe if you're lucky enough, you'll start feelin' happier soon.'

I'm trying really hard not to beam like a love-struck fool, but I can't help myself.

'I think it might have already worked, Neil.'

'Really?' His whole face seems to light up with pride. 'Cool! See? Told ya it was a good tradition!'

He looks genuinely delighted with himself for cheering me up so spectacularly. He really has too. He might be an idiot, but I'll be damned if he isn't the sweetest bloke that I know. I gaze at him silently a few seconds longer before the sound of some hideous baseline from a vaguely recognisable chart song echoes in the distance. Neil's head snaps towards it like a collie responding to its master's whistle, and a puppyish excitement seems to take over him.

'Aww, brilliant! I love this one! Fancy a dance?'

Normally, the very idea of the D word would turn my blood to ice water. Right now though, it sounds rather inviting.

'Sure, why not?'

I allow him to take my sticky clammy hand and drag me back towards the assembly hall, and I gladly drink in his irrepressible gusto as he babbles about how the song playing is one of the greatest ever written as we go. As mind-numbingly shit as this party is, maybe it will prove to be a bit more enjoyable having him there with me.

And even if it isn't, there are countless other holly-decked doorways around here that we can work on improving my luck beneath.

...

Author Notes: I got given some very bad news the other week, which has kind of guaranteed that I'm in for a bittersweet Christmas this year. Writing this has helped to cheer me up a bit though. I hope you found it enjoyable – please let me know if you did. I love hearing from other Inbetweeners slash fans. Thanks a lot for reading! Happy Holidays!


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